


Glowing Like the Metal on the Edge of a Knife

by quirkysubject



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Boyfriends, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Jealousy, Late 70s, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Sex, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Teasing, Wall Sex, destruction of property
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27159959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirkysubject/pseuds/quirkysubject
Summary: “I’m not doing this in the back of a car,” Roger hisses.This is new. Roger enjoys doing things in the backs of cars. Or the front. Or - and that time stands out vividly in Freddie’s mind - on the hood.“So you,” Roger continues as he takes both of Freddie’s hands in his and presses them firmly into the upholstery, “will behave.”
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Comments: 26
Kudos: 55





	Glowing Like the Metal on the Edge of a Knife

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tikini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tikini/gifts).



> Dear Tiki, it took me ages, but here it is, right in time for your birthday 😊 Wishing you a wonderful time! 💖💖💖
> 
> Title from Meat Loaf’s 'Paradise by the Dashboard Light'. Everything is consensual and safe words are in play. 
> 
> Mil gracias to @nastally for the beta!

“Not now.” Roger’s hand closes like a vice around Freddie’s wrist. With a stern look, his hand is placed back on the seat between them.

Freddie pouts and waits all of two seconds before he lets his fingers wander back towards Roger’s thigh. Both hands this time. Roger is looking straight ahead, pretending he doesn’t notice. Oh, he tries to act unruffled, but the growing bulge in his trousers tells Freddie exactly what he’s thinking about.

He gets as far as the crease of Roger’s thigh before his hands are slapped away with more force than he’s used to. “I’m not doing this in the back of a car,” Roger hisses.

This is new. Roger enjoys doing things in the backs of cars. Or the front. Or - and that time stands out vividly in Freddie’s mind - on the hood.

“So you,” Roger continues as he takes both of Freddie’s hands in his and presses them firmly into the upholstery, “will behave.”

Freddie squirms under him, enjoying the pressure and the way Roger effortlessly takes control. His little game of flirting with what's-his-name at the after-show party definitely worked. Looks like he got his boyfriend all riled up.

It’s getting a bit uncomfortable in his tight leather trousers, and he shifts his hips to draw attention to his need. ‘Behaving’ is all relative after all. But then the pressure on his hands is gone as quickly as it came. Roger is looking out the window, not paying any attention to Freddie’s wishes. Freddie is tempted to poke him a bit more, to see if maybe he can get Roger to let Freddie blow him while he pretends to be annoyed and calls him a bloody nuisance. That’s always a fun game.

But he holds back. Because Roger sounded like he has plans. _I’m not doing this in the back of a car._ Freddie is desperately curious to know what “this” might be. So he sits still and distracts himself from his growing arousal by imagining all the different scenarios, one lewder than the next.

Which isn’t really helping.

He can barely sit still by the time they get to the hotel. He climbs out of the car and jogs after Roger, who hasn’t said a word to him since and is marching broodingly towards his suite. Freddie can’t tell at all what he’s got in mind, and the uncertainty is beyond exciting.

Roger opens the door and lets Freddie in before him. But he doesn’t even get so far as to turn on the lights. As soon as they’re inside, Roger’s hands are on his hips, pushing the door shut by slamming Freddie’s body against it. Freddie goes from pleasingly horny to painfully hard in all of a second.

“What the fuck was that?” Roger growls, all his pent-up rage spluttering to the surface.

He doesn’t give Freddie time to answer because immediately his mouth is pressing bruisingly hard against Freddie’s.

Freddie groans and lets his head fall back against the door with a thud. He tries to push his rock-hard erection against Roger, looking for some sort of friction, but Roger’s hands keep him locked in his place. He whines in frustration, which makes Roger bite his lip just a bit too hard, sending a bolt of desire straight to Freddie’s cock. If kissing sometimes resembles a battle, this is full out war, and Freddie would surrender unconditionally if, _if_ he didn’t have the feeling that it’ll be more exciting this way. That if he gives back just enough to keep Roger on the fine edge of anger, he’ll get so much more than he bargained for.

Desperate for touch, Freddie hooks his foot around Roger’s hip, hitching it as high as he can go. The friction he gets on his cock is so fucking good he could get off right there, just like this. He reaches for the buttons of Roger’s shirt, but before he can get there, Roger catches his hands in one of his and presses them against the door above his head, keeping him pinned there. “Oh, fuck yes,” he whispers hotly against Roger’s lips.

Roger’s free hand wanders around towards Freddie’s crotch and Freddie tilts his hips up to show him exactly where he wants it.

But instead, he slips it into the front pocket of Freddie’s trousers. And pulls out the sachet of lube he had stashed there.

Oh, fuck. Freddie feels his cheeks flush hotly.

Roger pulls back and holds it up in between them. “Had plans?” he asks, eyebrows arched in condescending mock-curiosity. When Freddie doesn’t answer, he tosses the lube onto a sideboard and leans in, nibbling a trail along Freddie’s jaw to his ear. “Were you going to let this wanker fuck you in some backroom like a cheap whore?” Roger’s hoarse voice makes the degrading words drip like dark treacle into Freddie’s ear.

He needs a few breaths until he can speak again. “Watch who you’re calling cheap.”

A hand slams into the door next to his face, making him jump and sending a bolt of sheer, naked want radiating through his body. It’s exhilarating, seeing Roger let go like this. Freddie turns his head, licks Roger’s thumb, then bites it, desperate for any contact he can get.

Roger pushes his thumb against Freddie’s lips, almost bruising it against his teeth. “You think I'm gonna let you get away with that?”

Freddie puts on his best cocky grin. “Jealous?”

“He had his hands all over you, I saw it,” Roger hisses. He grips Freddie’s collar with both hands, tearing at it until the threads rip. The sound alone makes his legs grow weak.

He puts one foot on the floor, reaching for his boot on the other, trying to coax it off. Once they get to the part where the trousers come off, he doesn’t want to bother with shoes. And the trousers _will_ come off. They’ll have to, and soon, or there will be permanent damage.

“You wanted to fuck him?” Teeth rasping against his cheek. “Would you have let him fuck you?”

His boot clatters to the floor, having fallen from Freddie’s limp hand. “Maybe,” he says, just to keep Roger talking. Freddie has already forgotten the guy’s name, his face, his entire insignificant existence.

Roger grabs his hair, yanking at it so much harder than he usually does, uncaring of Freddie’s sensitive roots. A noise tears itself from Freddie’s throat, shockingly raw. Teeth sink into his neck just under his jaw where his pulse is racing. Freddie can feel it bruising. The mark will be visible.

Everyone will know that someone staked his claim tonight.

“You _are_ jealous,” he pants, scrambling for the last remains of his composure.

“He had his hand down the back of your trousers when I came in,” Roger grunts. “Did you let him finger you? Hm? Right there on that bloody sofa with all those people around?”

Freddie doesn’t answer. He didn’t, of course, the guy didn’t get further than his back pocket. But Roger doesn’t need to know that.

“Answer me,” Roger snarls.

It’s hard to focus, hard to breathe. “Would you have liked that”, Freddie whispers finally.

He is slammed into the door again, Roger’s forearm coming up high across his chest. Almost at his throat.

“Had a lovely big cock too,” Freddie goes on, almost delirious with lust. “I could see it through his jeans. He’d have fucked me so good if- ah.”

The hand his hair tightens, yanking his head back so hard tears gather in the corner of his eyes.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Freddie!” Roger’s teeth close around his earlobe biting down so hard Freddie yelps. “No one gets to touch you like this.”

The pressure on his chest eases as Roger slides his hand down and around to his arse. Freddie doesn’t know which way to arch, into Roger’s body against his front, or the hand grabbing his behind. “ _No one._ Do you understand?”

Freddie wants to melt into him, to say “yes” and “please” and “I’ll be good” and collect his reward. But not yet. If he holds out a bit longer, it will be all the sweeter.

Roger’s hand moves, slipping inside his trousers and raking his fingernails deliciously hard over his skin. “Not even wearing pants,” Roger tuts, voice dripping with derision. “Are you that desperate for it?”

“Always,” he whispers and nods just to feel his hair tugging against Roger’s fingers.

The hand on his arse is kneading and gripping at his flesh, pulling his cheeks apart and pushing them together again. Freddie knows Roger would throw in a spank or two as well if he had the space for it. He’s half-thinking of ways to manoeuvre them over to the sofa (the mere thought of Roger putting him over his knee for a proper walloping has his cock drooling in his trousers), when Roger’s hand is suddenly gone from his hair.

“Don’t you dare move,” he rasps with genuine fury in his voice, then reaches for the lube sachet and rips the packet open with his sharp white teeth. It’s a good thing that he told Freddie exactly what to do, because without the command Freddie would have dropped to his knees at the sight. Roger carelessly dribbles half the contents onto his fingers before sticking them unceremoniously down the back of Freddie’s trousers again.

“You’ve been such a brat today,” Roger whispers as his middle finger slips down Freddie’s arse crack, “you should be grateful you're getting any prep at all.”

Freddie whines at the thought of Roger bending him over and making him take his cock right now, cruelly ignoring his howls of pain and ecstasy.

Roger’s finger circles around Freddie’s hole, massaging around it but not pushing in, as if he’s actually considering it. They both wallow in the fantasy, in this enticing ‘what if’, for a moment, riding the high of that one step too far. One day, maybe.

“You’re lucky I like to finger you so much,” Roger whispers as he finally slips just the tip inside. He hooks it just behind Freddie’s rim, and pulls a little.

Freddie gasps at the sting of the stretch.

Roger circles his wrist as far as it will go, and Freddie arches down to get more of it. “Stay still,” he scolds as he shoves one leg between Freddie’s.

“You can make as much noise as you like, but you’ll stay still for me.”

“Or what,” Freddie asks and grinds down on his thigh.

Predictably, but no less tragically, the finger disappears. Freddie moans, both at the sensation and the surge of lust sweeping through his body at Roger’s teasing. He holds himself still even while every nerve ending inside him tells him to move, bites his lips and presses the back of his head into the door in an effort to comply.

“Hmm, that’s better,” Roger purrs, sliding two fingers back in. Freddie wants to strangle him for his patronizing tone, but then he’d lose the blissful stretch of those fingers fucking in and out of him.

The penetration isn’t deep from that angle and with the restricted range of motion, but every time Roger scissors his fingers, Freddie can feel his cock twitch pathetically. The fingers of Roger’s other hand dig into the globe of Freddie arse, pulling at it until it borders on painful, spreading him open. It only heightens the sensation of the fingers playing with his rim.

Freddie is moaning and babbling now, an endless litany of ‘please’ and ‘fuck’ and Roger’s name, anything to keep him from stopping.

“So greedy.” Roger’s teeth graze over the side of Freddie’s neck. “We’ve barely started and you’re gagging for it.” He moves his hips, pushing his cock into Freddie’s. “You want this?”

Freddie’s nodding frantically before he remembers he’s not allowed to move. “Oh yes, please.”

“You sure? Or would just any cock do? Do you just need something big and hard to fill you up?”

Right now Freddie isn’t even sure other cocks _exist_ , so focussed is he on Roger, his voice, his fingers, his scent. “You,” he gasps and is rewarded when Roger pushes his fingers in deeper. “No one else.”

The fingers disappear again and Freddie tries to work out what he’s done wrong, because he wants them back, he _needs_ them back. But when Roger grabs him by the scruff of his neck and spins him around, panic turns into triumph. Yes, yes, _yes_.

“Then that’s what you’re going to get.” One hand presses into his upper back, easily pinning him there, which is good because Freddie wants nothing more than to be pinned in every possible way. Freddie practically melts into the smooth surface of the door, cheek and chest pressed into it as he arches his back, rubbing it shamelessly against Roger’s front. He frantically tries to toe off that damned second boot, the high lacing making it difficult. But nothing is going to stand between him and the hard fuck waiting around the corner. Just when he’s finally succeeded, Roger swats his bum, startling a yelp out of him.

“Stop fidgeting,” Roger grunts and kicks the boot away so hard it knocks over the umbrella stand. Freddie’s trousers are pulled down, just to the top of his thighs. Freddie cants his hips a bit more in silent invitation. The thought of what he must look like right now, shamelessly presenting his bare arse to Roger, makes him sweat and shiver with want.

His aching cock is caught in the front of his trousers, the teeth of the zip biting into it. It would take only a small adjustment to free it. But if Roger notices he’s cheating, it would make him very angry.

Freddie inches one hand down slowly along the polished surface of the door.

Immediately nails dig so hard into the abused skin of his arse that he groans obscenely loud in the dark suite. It’s a sharp, deep pain, not the easy sting of a flat palm. “Your hands stay exactly where they are. _You_ stay exactly where you are.” That voice, combined with the afterglow of the pain, start up a warm buzz deep inside him.

The hand against his back disappears as Roger takes a step away, but his instruction is enough to keep Freddie frozen in place. There’s a rustle of clothes and the crackle of the lube sachet again. Freddie mouths the side of his arm because it’s the only place he can reach and the tension is unbearable. He dares a look over his shoulder, and the sight knocks the wind out of him.

Roger is drizzling the lube on his cock, which is jutting out dark and hard from the vee of his fly. He looks up, meeting Freddie’s eyes, and a smirk appears on his face. Lazily, as if he had all the time in the world, he slicks his hand along the length of his cock.

Someone is having fun, and it’s not Freddie, because Freddie’s _dying_ here while Roger is taking his sweet time getting ready. He pouts and looks up at Roger from under his lashes, pleading wordlessly with him to get a move on.

Roger’s grin grows wider at that, but it seems to work, because he steps closer, nudging Freddie’s legs apart none too gently. Freddie’s breath stutters as he complies. They don’t spread far because the leather trousers are in the way, constricting him. He has no idea whether he loves or hates it. He barely suppresses a sob when Roger finally takes hold of his hips and presses himself against his arse, rolling his hips and sliding his length along Freddie’s crack. The friction against his hole is intoxicating, but not enough, not what he needs. “Come _on_ ,” he begs.

He gets a hand to the back of the neck for that, pressing his sweat-slick cheek into the door. “Watch it,” Roger growls and the gravel in his voice makes Freddie’s legs tremble.

The hand on his neck moves, wanders over to his cheek until two fingers are pressed messily into his mouth. He sucks them in immediately and Roger huffs out a breath. “Bet you wish it was my cock.”

Fuck, he does.

Roger shoves them in deeper, as far as they will go. Freddie gags and pulls his head back, neck muscles straining. But with Roger pressing against him from behind he doesn’t get far. It only brings his head closer to Roger, making it easier to push the fingers in even deeper.

Freddie breathes deeply through his nose, allowing himself to relax and sink deep into the honey-sweet slowness that comes with giving in.

Perhaps Roger is waiting for Freddie to beg. And he’s ready to, ready to ask so prettily for anything Roger is willing to give him: For a cock shoved deep down his throat, or for a hand on his erection, using his own slobber to get him off while Roger rubs off against him. Maybe if he asks really nicely he’ll get both, one after the other. The thought distracts him so much that he jumps when the hardness of Roger’s cock is pushing against his rim, big and blunt. Freddie instinctively pulls his legs together at the sudden pressure, but Roger holds them apart with his knees.

“Yes, that’s it,” Roger murmurs, his lips nuzzling the back of Freddie’s neck. “See what happens when you’re good for me.” He rolls his hips again, the head of his cock stretching him just for a second before easing off again. Freddie mewls in frustration, and Roger chuckles. “I’m gonna fuck you now,” he announces softly, both his hands returning to grip Freddie’s hips.

His every hair is standing on end, every nerve ending is on fire. Rough denim scrapes against his naked thighs. Freddie is about to get fucked against the bloody door without either of them even getting their trousers off. He holds himself perfectly still, desperate to end this agony of waiting, to not give Roger any excuse to stop yet again.

“Say you want it,” Roger demands.

“I want it.” He doesn’t want to whisper, but that’s how it comes out. God, he wants it so much he’s shaking with it. “Please, give it to me.”

Roger presses just the head in and it aches so good that Freddie can’t hold in a loud, wanton groan. Sweet humiliation is burning in his cheeks, at his eagerness, his shamelessness, his neediness. He’d do anything Roger asked of him right now, and they both know it.  
Roger pulls out again completely, leaving his hole clenching around nothing.

“Please,” Freddie sobs.

“God, I love it when you’re like this,” Roger whispers against his neck. He rubs the head of his cock against Freddie’s entrance, nipping at his skin when he whimpers pathetically. “So, so desperate for my cock.”

“Want you so badly,” Freddie mumbles, his lips leaving wet smears against the dark wood of the door.

This time when Roger pushes in, he doesn’t stop. It’s a slow, thick slide into the very core of his body. It’s a lot to take after what little prep he got and it’s perfect. Freddie’s back arches like a bow, his head falling back as he surrenders to Roger filling him up, to the incredible stretch deep within him. One hand comes around to his nipple, thumbing back and forth over it, further reducing Freddie to a whimpering mess.

“God, I want to fuck you like this forever,” Roger moans, his voice reedy and breathless.

“Fuck yes,” Freddie breathes. It will kill him, but what a way to go.

“It’s like you were made for me to fuck you. Feel so fucking good. So good for me.”

“Only you,” Freddie whispers, and he gets rewarded with a sharp, hard thrust that knocks the wind out of him. Still, he reacts the only way he knows how, by pressing his sweaty palms to the door and pushing back. That forces a low groan out of Roger, and he surges forward, pushing Freddie back into his place with his body. He twists Freddie’s nipple between his fingers, sending a sharp lightning bolt of pain right down to his neglected cock. Then he rakes his fingernails over his chest and flanks, his shoulders and arms, setting off an electric storm under Freddie’s skin.

His hands only stop when they reach Freddie’s, intertwining their fingers and pressing them more tightly against the door. Roger is in him - his cock dragging deliciously over his prostate with every stroke - and on him, surrounding him, holding him up. Freddie sobs into the door, overwhelmed by sensations, yet greedy for more.

“You want more?” Roger whispers into his neck, and it’s only then Freddie realises he must have said it out loud.

“Yes, yes, please,” he sobs, although he has no idea how that’s even possible. “Anything.”

“Hmm.” Roger lazily lets his hips snap in and out of Freddie for a moment while licking a stripe along the back of his neck. “I’ve an idea.”

Freddie bends his head forward as far as it will go, willing Roger to keep putting his mouth right there. He’s sinking deeper and deeper, welcoming the dark haze.

“I’d have to let go of you for a moment though.” His voice is a bit teasing, but actually it’s a warning. The first time they’d been in deep like this, when Roger had suddenly withdrawn because he wanted to change positions, Freddie had been reeling from the sudden loss and emptiness.

“Nooooo.” Freddie circles his hips as sensuously as he can, revelling in the sharply indrawn breath he draws out of Roger.

“You’re such a tart,” Roger says with a playful bite to Freddie’s neck. “But guess what.” His voice drops deeper, lower. Freddie’s skin is tingling from apprehension, because he knows something is coming. “You don’t call the shots here.”

In an instant, his hands have dropped to Freddie’s chest, and he’s taking a step back, his cock slipping out of Freddie. “Hush, it’s just for a moment,” he reassures him as Freddie lets out a desperate whine, and steers him away from the door.

Freddie doesn’t want to leave the door. The door was good, it was _perfect_ , he’d _marry_ the bloody door if he could.

“I love it when you’re like this,” Roger mumbles, nuzzling his cheek while he manoeuvres Freddie around. “Gonna take such good care of you.”

Freddie scowls and turns his face away from Roger. He’s not doing a very good job of it. Instead of being fucked into oblivion as he bloody well deserves, Freddie’s being made to stumble around on shaky legs, almost tripping over his trousers, and for no good reason at all.

Roger chuckles. “Oh Christ, aren’t you a handful.” He comes to Freddie’s front and walks him backwards a few more steps, until Freddie feels the edge of the sideboard digging into his thighs. “Look at me,” Roger demands, and Freddie forgets almost immediately that he’s cross with him. His hair is a sweaty mess and his dark eyes glued to Freddie’s face. Roger looks ready to devour him whole.

Freddie lets out a weak little ‘oh’ as the tide of arousal ripples through his core.

Roger crouches a little, hooks his hands under Freddie’s thighs and lifts him onto the sideboard with a grunt, sending a fruit bowl crashing to the ground. He makes short work of Freddie’s trousers, and Freddie hisses as the sticky leather drags over his cock. Strong hands tug on his hips, making him scoot forward until his arse is right on the edge. Oh, this is _brilliant_. He hooks his heels around Roger’s waist, drawing him in.

An evil glint appears in Roger’s eyes as he takes his cock into his hand and leans forward. “How long d’you think I should make you wait,” he asks as he places the head of his cock against Freddie’s grasping entrance.

Freddie reaches for him, fingers knotting in his shirt and trying to pull him in.

“Fuck, you want it so much, don’t you.” Roger increases the pressure minutely, not enough to go in, but more than enough to force a tortured moan out of Freddie. He puts his hands on Freddie’s hips, stopping his pathetic attempts to scuttle forward and fuck himself on Roger’s cock. Freddie writhes, desperately searching for the friction he needs.

Roger moves, rubbing his slick cock over Freddie’s perineum, his balls. It feels exquisite, but it’s not enough, but it’s what Roger wants, but it’s not what Freddie needs, but being made to suffer is what he craves, but not too much, but this isn’t… but… The circles that Freddie’s brain runs in become smaller and faster, overheating and spinning out of control.

It’s only then, when he’s a blabbering, sobbing mess that Roger thrusts into him, too fast and too deep for this new angle, piercing through the turmoil and making him keen at the intensity.

He has a second to adjust before Roger starts fucking him in earnest. His hands pin Freddie’s hips to the spot, making him take every inch. The new angle means that he is hitting his prostate directly, and the pleasure-pain that comes with it has Freddie squeezing his eyes shut, wetness prickling at the corners. He shakes at the heat and pressure, the heady buzz that comes with being taken and held down and fucked. Roger murmurs filthy words of praise and reproach in his ear, letting him know how good he feels, how he is completely at Roger’s mercy, how he doesn’t deserve it, how he’ll give it to him anyway.

He almost jumps out of his skin when Roger’s hand closes around his neglected cock. He pumps him with tight strokes in time with his thrusts, not trying to draw it out any more. Freddie doesn’t have it in him to fight it, and he surrenders to the bone-deep pleasure that overwhelms him. Roger fucks him through it, hitting that spot over and over, just right, every time, until the pleasure becomes so sharp it hurts and Freddie begs him to stop.

“Feel so good,” Roger grits out through clenched teeth, thrusting deep into Freddie’s oversensitive body. “Can feel you clenching around me, oh god.”

Freddie draws in ragged breaths, trying to hold himself still, to be a perfectly pliant thing for Roger to use as he pleases. Even while his cock is spent and it’s all too much, there is pleasure even here, when he looks at Roger’s face twisting in ecstasy, hears the groans falling from his lips, feels his nails digging painfully into his hips, and knows that it’s all for him.

As much as Freddie loves it when Roger is in control, he loves it even more when he falls apart at the edges, when his voice starts breaking and his rhythm - always so steady and dependable - finally falters. His thrusts stutter, become small and fast and urgent, and then Freddie can feel the slippery wet heat pulsing inside him.

Roger rests his forehead against Freddie’s as they come down from the high together, their breaths slowing down. He draws his thumbs over Freddie’s cheeks, wiping off tears and sweat. Freddie keeps his feet crossed over his back, not prepared to let him go yet.

“Are you alright,” Roger asks. He always asks, no matter how many times Freddie has told him that he’ll let him know in no uncertain terms if he isn’t.

Freddie angles his face up for a lazy kiss. “More than alright,” he whispers, combing his fingers through Roger’s hair. He tries to straighten his spine a little and winces at the soreness in his lower back. He’s been bent into a pretzel shape far too long. With a sigh, he unhooks his legs, signalling Roger it’s okay to move away. He hates the feeling of him slipping out. It’s the only downside to sex, really. Sometimes they manage to stay connected until Roger is good for a second round, but there’s no way Freddie can take that tonight. Or Roger. Or the sideboard, for that matter.

Glass crunches under Roger’s shoes as he moves away. “Oh my.” He breaks into a grin as he takes in the carnage they've created. There’s broken glass everywhere, with apples and pears in between, turning the foyer into a death trap. Freddie’s boots and discarded trousers and the toppled umbrella stand complement the picture.

“Someone’s been having quite a party,” Freddie comments.

Roger does up his trousers and steps close to Freddie again, slinging his arms around him. “Hold on,” he says. “Can’t risk your feet getting all cut up, can we?”

Freddie clings to Roger like a limpet as he’s carried to the bedroom. Roger could have set him down after a couple of steps, as the glass shards haven’t spread far. But it feels lovely, so who is Freddie to remind him of that fact?

He is dumped onto the bed none too gently, and he retaliates by pulling Roger down with him, snuggling up close to him.

“Ugh, Freddie, stop, you’re filthy.”

He’s probably referring to the come that’s on and in him and that he’s currently smearing all over Roger.

“Thought you liked that, darling” he whispers in his raspiest voice.

“Not like _that_ I don’t!” He squirms in Freddie’s iron grip. “Let me get my shoes off at least, will you?”

Grudgingly, Freddie grants the request, happy to have Roger crawl back into his arms once he’s done. He won’t deny Freddie anything at this stage.

Freddie usually hates the feeling of their fluids becoming tacky and disgusting on his skin. But he can’t bear having Roger part from him, not yet. Soon, they’ll get up and head for the showers, discarding the soiled sheets. Or Roger will get a flannel and wipe him down at least. But not yet.

He buries his nose in Roger’s neck and breathes in deeply. Roger’s fingers stroke long, soothing patterns over his back, lulling him into a drowse. His body warm and safe, he lets his thoughts drift.

“Next time,” he starts, but is immediately cut off by Roger’s exasperated groan.

“Next time,” Roger repeats, “you don’t let some arsehole put his paws all over you when we’re out.”

Freddie lets his voice drop low. “Or what?”

Roger is silent for a beat. “Or I’ll drag you to the car and put you over my knee and spank you until you can’t sit for a week.”

 _Hmm, lovely_. Freddie snuggles impossibly closer with a satisfied hum, taking in Roger's soft chuckle and the kiss dropped to the crown of his head.


End file.
